I'll Most Likely Eat You in the Morning
by dr. kitten
Summary: The kid refuses to sleep. Yondu attempts to fix this, with mixed results. Takes place several months after Peter is picked up by the Ravagers. Cute bonding moment late at night in Peter's room (Yondu's storage closet). Rated T for Yondu's bad language and violent tendencies. :D


**I'll Most Likely Eat You in the Morning**

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 **My first foray into Guardians fiction ... I told myself I wasn't gonna do this, but then a random thought popped into my head, "I wonder what Yondu's singing voice is like?" And I couldn't resist. I did my best to keep it true to character, though I only know the movies (I've seen each about five times, though, and know all of Yondu's lines by heart, sooo...) Enjoy! I'd love to hear your thoughts! :D**

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The room Yondu had given him barely qualified as a room at all; it had walls (four of them), a floor (mostly grating), a ceiling (slanted and just tall enough to accommodate him – Yondu had to stoop), and a door (worked sometimes, but other times refused to close). In fact, Peter was pretty sure that before he had taken up residence, it had been the Captain's personal closet. This suspicion was fortified when he discovered a dusty trinket stuck in the corner under the bed.

Right now, the door was open, having jammed halfway when he tried to shut it, and he could hear Yondu's snores, punctuated by light whistling sounds as he exhaled through crooked, chipped teeth. Out of everything scary about Yondu, and there was lots, those teeth terrified Peter the most. Whenever he looked at them, all he could imagine was how much they would hurt when they sank into the meat of his arm. Of course, Yondu probably wouldn't devour him _raw,_ but still … this morbid image was not helped by the fact that the Ravager's new favorite way to send him off to bed had become, "G'night, brat. Sleep tight. I'll most likely eat'chu in the mornin'."

It had been three months since his mom died, her empty hand still outstretched on the bed, growing cold as it waited for the touch she'd never feel. Three months since he'd run out into the misty night, wild with grief, and been yanked brutally from his home without warning, and deposited into the midst of a strange, unfathomable world. Beforehand, if anyone had told him that one day he'd be living with a group of alien space pirates, well, he'd have been thrilled. But the reality of it wasn't nearly so cool. They were jerks. And yeah, sure, they were pirates: they were supposed to be mean, but not to _him._ He was part of the crew now, he worked like all the rest of them, and yet they still treated him dirt. And Yondu was the worst, because he could protect Peter if he wanted to, but he didn't. Just the other day, Taserface had tripped him in the hallway and stepped on his back (which _really_ hurt, the dude was heavy!) and when Yondu found him crying and demanded to know what had happened, all Peter got was an eye roll and a joke about being 'tenderized'. It wasn't fair.

Sighing in frustration, he rolled onto his side, back facing the open doorway, and started the mixtape again. He did alright until _I'm Not In Love_ came up. He usually skipped that one because it made his chest hurt, but tonight he listened to it all the way through, wishing he was back on Earth (or Terra, as the Ravagers called it), wishing his mom was still alive, wishing that he'd taken her hand when she'd asked. By the time the song was done, there was a huge damp patch on his pillow, and he had to pause his walkman and set it carefully aside so it wouldn't get wet.

It wasn't until he slipped the earphones off that he realized Yondu's snoring had stopped. Worse yet, someone was standing in the half-open doorway. Looming, actually. Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Shit, he was so dead. He'd woken Yondu up with his sniffling, and now he was about to be dragged down to the galley and served up as a midnight snack.

He lay stock still, not daring to even breathe, eyes wide as he contemplated the various different ways he might be butchered. Would Yondu finish it quickly with an arrow to the forehead? Or would he let Kraglin work Peter over with his knives, cutting off a sliver here and there to make it torturously slow? Or maybe, if he was _really_ pissed off, he'd give Peter to Taserface.

But Yondu just stood there, not saying a word. It was weird, and Peter felt worse and worse with each passing moment. What was the Captain doing? Watching him sleep? Biding his time? Was he enjoying tormenting the little boy he'd kidnapped?

When the whistle finally came, what seemed like hours later, Peter's nerves were wound so tight that he let out an involuntary squeak of fear. But there was no pain, no spurt of blood. Instead, the arrow did a slow circle of the room, casting a dull red light over the walls. It was a bit like the nightlight he'd had at home, but way creepier.

There was something different about Yondu's whistle, too. Unlike the usual assortment of notes and trills, this one had a distinctive tune to it, one that Peter recognized. It was the opening of _My Sweet Lord._ How the hell did Yondu know _that_ song, and why would he be whistling it right now, in the middle of the night, standing (looming) in the door of Peter's room (his storage closet)?

The whistle stopped, but the arrow kept up its lazy meandering. And then – Peter could hardly believe his ears – Yondu started to sing.

"My Star-Lord," he hummed. "Hm, Star-Lord." His voice, hoarse at any time, was especially rough with being woken from a deep sleep, and for a guy who was so accomplished at whistling, he was hilariously off-key. But Peter didn't dare move a muscle, keeping perfectly still as Yondu continued.

"I really wanna see ya, really wanna be with ya, really wanna see ya, boy, but it takes so long, Star-Lord. Oh, Star-Lord. My Star-Lord."

This was … unbelievably strange. Peter surreptitiously pinched his arm to make sure he wasn't dreaming, or more accurately, having a nightmare. The last thing he'd expected when he crawled into bed was to have Yondu, the big badass space pirate, standing here crooning a lullaby tailored just for him. He couldn't figure out what it signified. Did Yondu really mean the words he had altered? That _couldn't_ be the case. He thought of Peter as a nuisance, one that he was willing to put up with as long as it obeyed his orders and didn't irritate him too much, but there was no _way_ he actually gave a shit.

And yet, improbably, the song continued into the second verse. "I really wanna know ya, really wanna go with ya, really wanna show ya, boy, that it won't take long, Star-Lord."

Now that the initial shock was over, several facts were beginning to seep into Peter's brain. One, that his mother's pet name for him was something that he had never shared with Yondu. Two, this song was not on his mixtape. Combined, these two tidbits presented several possible conclusions. Yondu was some kind of omniscient god (scary!). Yondu had been spying on him before he snatched him (but _why_?) Or …

The asshole had stuck his blue nose into Peter's things. Peter hadn't had the guts – or the heart – to open his mom's last gift yet, but he was fairly sure that it contained another tape, and given how much she loved that song, it wasn't unreasonable to think that it might be on there. And she might very well have addressed him as Star-Lord in her letter. And Yondu had read it.

The thought made Peter's blood boil. His shoulders were trembling again, now with rage rather than fear. How dare Yondu violate his last piece of home? He could just imagine the smirk on his face as he scanned the words (if could he even read, Peter thought sarcastically), sniggering to himself over how much the stupid boy's pathetic mother had doted on him, how weak they both were-

Yondu stopped singing mid-word, cutting himself off with a frustrated growl. "Aw hell. That damn book said this were s'posed to make you _stop_ crying. Last time I let Kraglin do my shopping."

All the response that Peter could muster was a tiny, baffled, "What?"

"Ya cry so damn much, didn't think it was normal for a kid yer age," Yondu snarled, somehow making it sound like Peter's misery was his own fault. "Thought sumthin' was wrong with ya, maybe. So I picked up a book on rearin' Terran kids. It said that on your planet, par- … uh, _caretakers_ _…_ sing to kids at nighttime, help 'em go to sleep. Thought I'd give it a try."

There was a lot to unpack in those few brief sentences, but Peter of course latched onto only one detail. "You were gonna say 'parents'," he muttered. "You're not my dad, jackass."

"Thank the stars," replied Yondu, insultingly flippant. "Wouldn't know what to do with ya if I was. But like it or not, boy, I _am_ your caretaker, 'til you get old enough that you can fend for yerself. So don't give me none of yer lip, or I'll break it."

It wasn't the most coherent of threats, but then again, this was the eighth night in a row that he'd been woken by a sobbing brat. Nine nights ago, he'd passed out in his chair on the bridge and been woken by Kraglin, who couldn't be bothered to conceal his grin when he saw that Yondu had drooled in his sleep. Point being, it was time to fix this broken-ass kid before he snapped and put the arrow through his skull. And if warbling like a nightingale was the best way to do it, then he'd shove his pride into his boots and fucking sing, damn it.

It definitely didn't mean that he cared about the snot-nosed little bastard. No, sir. Not one bit.

Especially not when Quill, ever cheeky, hissed into his pillow, "Anyway, your singing is _terrible,_ old man. You're more likely to give me nightmares than sweet dreams."

"I really wanna see you!" Yondu bellowed at the top of his lungs, taking great enjoyment in the brat's startled twitch. "I really wanna see you!" His voice climbed higher, creaking a little as it stretched its range. "I really wanna see you, boy! Hulla-baloo-ya!"

Quill coughed.

Damn, how did that gibberish bit go again? "Hairy crusher … hairy crusher."

A little face craned round to stare incredulously at him. "Um, those are _not_ the words. If you're gonna sing to me, at least get it right!"

"Teach me, then," said Yondu. "How's it go?"

"It's _hallelujah,_ not 'hulla-baloo-ya'," Quill sneered. "And he's saying _hari krishna._ Jeez, it's not hard to figure out if you use your ears."

Yondu shrugged. "All yer Terran lingo sounds like monkey-birds squawkin' to me. Besides, it ain't easy to tell what he's sayin' on the record-whatsit." Then he froze, realizing a beat too late what he'd accidentally revealed.

Quill sat straight up in bed, his glare downright murderous. Yondu was almost proud of it. "I knew it! I knew you went and listened to it! You asshole!"

"Best watch your tone, boy," Yondu warned, pursing his lips. Quill was too angry to notice, or to care.

" _Don't touch my stuff!"_

"Ain't no crew 'cept the Cap'n got the luxury of personal things, boy," Yondu said. That wasn't strictly true, but it was better than trying to justify to a furious child why he'd pawed through something that was clearly so important to him. (Looking for trinkets, naturally; the mixtape wasn't visually appealing enough to suit his tastes, and the letter from his mom, while interesting, had zero practical value. Yondu had let them be.)

But Peter didn't seem to appreciate the fact that it was only Yondu's generosity that had kept the rest of the crew from pilfering his backpack and stealing his precious music. Nor did he appreciate Yondu's heroic middle-of-the-night efforts to get him to go back to sleep. His little face, normally an unattractive shade of pink, had gone positively puce with indignation. Yondu wondered idly if he was going to explode.

"You had no right," he gritted out, and in the shadow of those words, spoken by an eight-year-old having a temper tantrum, was a hint of danger. Just a smidgen, but it was enough to make Yondu thing that this kid might amount to something, someday. Once he outgrew his tendency to water his pillow every evening before bed.

"I had every right, boy," he replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Count yerself lucky I didn't chuck your shit out the airlock first chance I got. Crew would'a thanked me for it."

"My mixtapes aren't _shit!"_ Peter screamed. "They aren't junk, they aren't stuff, they aren't _things!_ They're mine! They're a part of me, don't you get it? It's like … it's like if you found out that I had been playing with your arrow. You'd kill me, right?"

Yondu narrowed his eyes, trying to parse where the kid was going with this. "You threatenin' me, boy? That ain't wise."

"Oh forget it," Peter sighed, shoulders deflating. He flopped onto his back, staring resolutely at the ceiling as if determined to pretend that he was alone in the room. Yondu sighed, feeling extremely put-upon. The right thing to do would be to ignore the kid and go back to his bunk to finish getting his shut-eye. After all, he'd done his best. But then he remembered why he'd come in here in the first place, that vague urge that seized his heart whenever he heard Quill in distress, to do what he could to make it go away.

He crouched down by the kid's bedside, leaning a casual elbow on the mattress. His arrow still circled above them, its glow reflecting off the tear-tracks on Quill's cheeks.

"What's so important about it, anyway?" Yondu asked gruffly. "You homesick or sumthin'? Wish you were back on yer _Terra_ , with yer own kind? Want me to drop ya off again, right where I found ya?"

He almost fell over in shock when Peter shook his head. "No," the boy mumbled. "I don't wanna go back to Earth."

Yondu couldn't begin to explain the relief that eased through his veins. He wouldn't have taken the kid back anyway, couldn't have, so the answer was as weightless as a feather in space, but for some reason, he was glad that Quill _wanted_ to stay. He told himself it was just because crew that were content were less likely to mutiny.

"So why, then?" he said. "What's so special 'bout yer damn tunes? Why d'they mean so much to ya?"

"My mom loved them," replied Quill, pausing midway through to sniff snot back into his nose. Gross little brat; Yondu would have just wiped it off on his sleeve or the sheets. He stared at the kid a minute longer, expecting a follow-up, but none came. Apparently, that _was_ the explanation, or as much of it as he was gonna get. He grunted and got back on his feet with a groan as he knees protested.

"Better keep a good eye on them, then," he said. Quill's eyes shifted to him, a pitifully forlorn expression on his face. Against his better judgment, Yondu reached down and roughly tousled his hair.

"G'night, kid." He made for the door, but – not satisfied with leaving on such a mushy note – called over his shoulder, "Wake me up again, and I'll be in here first thing tomorrow morning' with my plate and fork. Won't even bother cookin' ya."

"Night, Yondu," Quill replied wearily. Then, so faint he barely caught it, a parting shot came floating through the open door behind him: "Don't ever sing to me again!"

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 **I hope the shift in perspective halfway through wasn't too jarring. Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading! :D  
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